October 14, 2013 § Leave a comment
I’ve had the following inner dialogues for about three weeks now, maybe longer. I think it’s kind of humorous witnessing my mind grapple with itself, watching the different parts of my personality, especially those more affected by depression than others, interact.
“I just want to cut myself. I have enough blades to do it. I want to do it.”
“So why don’t you? Just do it if you keep thinking about it! Nothing is stopping you.”
“No, I can’t. Someone might see at work.”
“Oh, so you’re not trying to kill yourself.”
“No, not today.”
“So why do you want to do it at all?”
“I think it’ll feel good.”
“Oh, I see. So you think cutting through your own flesh will feel good?”
“Don’t you see how fucked up that is?”
No response, because when I’m met with solid logic that contradicts how I feel, I shut down. The good news is, when I’m defeated like that, I don’t do anything.
“There’s a bridge.”
“Yepp. It’s a bridge.”
“It’s about 40 feet down.”
“Really? Looks more like 20. You might just break a leg.”
“Not if I go head-first. That would kill me instantly for sure.”
“Really? What if it just paralyzes you. Think how much more miserable you would be then.”
“But it would be over. The daily struggle would be over, so quickly. I just have to step off.”
“Uh huh. Yeah, you could do that, but what if you change your mind halfway down.”
“It wouldn’t matter, I would be dead a split second later.”
“Okay, but what if halfway down you realize you DO want to keep fighting but then you’re paralyzed and even though you’re ready to embrace all that life has to offer, your body is no longer capable of doing so. What are you going to do then?”
Silence. I can’t judge distances very well, some kind of problem with atmospheric interference and a general lack of proper depth perception. I don’t know enough about physics to determine if it’s 20 or 40 feet, and I don’t know enough about angles and velocity and the delicacy of muscle, bone, and brain to know for sure that I wouldn’t end up paralyzed and frustrated.
I really have Situation 1 dialogues much more often than Situation 2, since Situation 2 only comes up if I’m driving (same thought process but wrecking a car versus jumping off a bridge) or around a bridge or tall building (the latter is rare, by happenstance not necessarily choice).
I think I’m dealing with things better now that I’m so involved with my cousin’s depression. Sometimes we’re really similar but sometimes we’re the opposite about things. Either way, talking to him means I have to engage with someone in a personal way every day, I’ve forced to interact with depression directly every day, and I have to constantly tell him things that I should also tell myself. In some ways I think I’m more depressed than he is, because my depression isn’t a result of something bad happening and isn’t really triggered by anything in particular. I just wake up one day feeling fine and by the afternoon, I’m ready to end it all. Nothing specific happens to set me off, and my suicidal thoughts are very calculated and thought-out, not at all an emotional, heat-of-the-moment kind of thing. It’s funny how we’re opposite like that, and I guess it’s funny too how we deal with it so differently.
I think I’m doing better, but that may just be because I’m so busy trying to keep him afloat, on top of my other obligations to my dog, my two jobs, and my general adulthood responsibilities (mental note: must go grocery shopping tomorrow). He’s in a lot of pain, and it’s a pain I understand, but it’s not the kind of pain I’m in. In fact, most of the time I just feel numb or a persistent feeling of dissatisfaction. But that may just be the difference of our depression, or difference in personality. I’m an active person, not a passive person, so sitting around not knowing what to do with myself just isn’t something I could ever imagine doing. To be fair, I tried it once, last year when I first moved home. Lasted about a month. I feel better when I’m actively doing things, actively working towards a goal that will benefit me, that I think will bring me some kind of happiness or satisfaction. I can’t feel too terrible about my depression since I would call that one very special thing: HOPE.
It’s been a little harder lately to hold onto that hope because my sleeping pills have stopped working like they used to a mere two weeks ago, and I’ve started having nightmares again. Hopefully it’s cyclical or related to Chris being in such dire straights that I’m kept busy trying to drag him up from rock bottom that I haven’t really been able to focus on my own issues in the way that I was before. Hard to tell. I’ve had a few blog topics floating around my head but haven’t had a minute to actually write them out. Soon, soon. One thing at a time, one day at a time.